Every Night
by Luci-Marlena
Summary: Sam POV "Every night I wished that it was you, that you were the one I imprinted on, the woman that would make my eyes cloud over, that would be mine forever."


**Disclaimer:** All of the characters, concepts, and anything affiliated with the _Twilight_ saga belong to (their rightful owner) Stephanie Meyer. The rest of the work belongs to me and should not be copied in any way, including translations, without my explicit consent.

Major thanks to Flyaway Dove for Beta-ing this.

Set: Sometime after BD. There was no imprinting on Nessie.

**Sam's POV**

_Every Night_

You're late. Today is Rachel and Paul's engagement party—just a simple barbeque with family and friends—and you're not here yet. Neither is _he_.

I can't help the feeling that stirs within me when I think about you two together. _Alone._ Quil, Embry, and Seth are here. The three least reliable guys of your pack are on time. Where _are_ you?

Better yet, where is _he?_

Do I really want to know?

I've seen a change between the two of you. You're not fighting as much. You're, dare I say it, getting along. I get it, that's to be expected, you being his Beta. But I can't help but feel that something is _off._ Like there is something more going on when you roll your eyes or when he smirks.

But you would never… it's not even _possible._

_No._

It's because you're you and you would never be with _him_ like _that._ You're broken. You're broken, (which is my fault), worse than Humpty Dumpty. Not even all the king's horses and all the king's men can fix you, let alone _Jacob Black._

So you're late. The both of you. You weren't chatting, laughing, or joking around. Neither of you were brushing by each other, touching, holding, kissing one another. The simplest and most probable scenario is that he either a) pissed you off, b) did something stupid, or c) a combination of a) and b) – that's probably the most likely.

My scenario is proved correct when I see the two of you stumbling over, shoving and hitting each other as you try to brush the leaves and twigs off of your dress and out of your hair. He's hissing something at you, something too low for me to hear, and you stiffen. Your eyes glaze over and become all hazy with anger. Soon, you're hissing turns into yelling.

Oh great, now all of us get to hear how the "True Alpha" pissed you off.

Ah, you're upset because of what you saw in his mind.

"What the _fuck _do you mean Black! I saw what you were _thinking_ but I just can't fucking believe it!" you yell.

You're fighting and I can't help but be glad. You should end it.

Leave his pack.

Become _my_ Beta instead.

"Well, you obviously _know_! You fucking saw it before you dislocated my shoulder!" he yells.

I hear Emily gasp and Rachel seethe when you yell how you dislocated his shoulder. Meanwhile, I want to give you a medal. You should have dislocated his shoulder. If he thought something about you, something that you don't like, you have every right to dislocate his shoulder. If I heard what he thought, something that made you so angry, I would have done worse to him.

Just for you.

Besides, look at him. He's standing, he's moving his arms: obviously his shoulder has healed. I don't understand why he's making such a fuss.

"And you deserved that dislocated shoulder you little creep!" you shout, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Besides, I helped you pop it back in," you point out with a smirk on your face.

Rolling his eyes, Jacob scoffs, "Only because I fucking begged you to help me."

Your smirk widens as you cross your arms over your chest and, cocking an eyebrow, you laugh, "You didn't _have _to beg."

"Bull shit," he bites out at you.

I see you try to stifle a laugh, and I have to admit, it's very clever. Making your Alpha go down on all fours and beg you for help is hilarious. Humiliating your Alpha—no, humiliating Jacob Black by making him ask you for help, was genius. Seeing how red and angry Jacob is, he knows too.

You just raise a brow and grin.

He starts to shake before he glares at you and yells, "Fuck you!"

"Ha! You wish," you sneer.

Looking you dead in the eye, Jacob leans in and breaths, "Every night."

You're about to come back with some ready-made-for-the-situation line that would humiliate and put him in his place when you stop and ask, "Wait, what?"

He crosses his arms across his chest, juts out his chin and repeats himself, "Every night."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you ask. Putting your hands on your hips, you cock an eyebrow and glare at him, wanting him to explain.

Right now, everyone has turned their attention on the both of you.

Jacob, aware of everyone's attention, rakes his hands through his hair and lets out a huff before staring at you with an annoyed expression. He takes a deep breath and is about to say something; instead he lets out another frustrated sigh and shakes his head.

While Jacob is trying to figure out what to say, I'm trying to figure out if I want him to say it. I don't know if I want to hear him say anything to you. What if you go with him? What if you stay with him and say it back? Would you return his feelings? Would you leave me with no chance of ever coming back? I wouldn't be able to deal with that, to hear you say that you feel something for _him._

Someone else.

Not _me._

Tapping your foot impatiently, you ask, "Well?"

He glares at you and you give him a look that says _I'm waiting_.

Well, on the other hand, you could just completely shoot him down, mocking his feelings and the fact that he feels something for you that you will never, ever be able to feel for anyone because those feelings are still for _me._

On second thought, maybe he should tell you. I'd love to see the expression on his face when you humiliate and reject him.

You're about to say something, probably going to ask when he's going to hurry the fuck up and tell you, when he lets out a growl.

"What the hell do you think it means? Put it to-fucking-gether! I. Fucking. _Love._ You," he shouts.

Whatever you thought he was going to say, this clearly was not it. Your mouth is hanging open as you just stare at him in disbelief.

It's no surprise that he just shouts how he feels about you. It's so cliché but so you. You were never one for the quiet, private moments; always preferring to be loud and alive. Nothing like Emily. You never were refined, timid, quiet, or proper. No. You're more real, flawed. You're loud, obnoxious, sarcastic, and have no sense of privacy, nothing like a breakable china doll. I like that.

It doesn't surprise me that you go and jump into his arms in the middle of his sister's wedding party in response to his yelled confession.

You yell, your curse, you hit, before you stop, stare at him and yell, hit, and curse at him some more. He doesn't do anything to stop you. He just lets you hit, yell, and curse at him. Calm as can be.

This is neither the rejection nor the reaction I was expecting from either of you.

Finally, you stop hitting, yelling, and cursing at him. He just holds you while you try to regain your breath.

Everyone is just staring at you two, wondering what will happen next.

After a while, you just stand there and look at him. You just stare into his eyes and search for some sign of a lie in them.

As if doubting the look in his eyes, you ask him in a small voice, "Are you serious? You won't…you won't leave?"

He looks at you and gives you a small smile while nodding. "You'd kill me if I left."

You return his smile and bury yourself into his arms, an embrace that he returns easily, (Is this a familiar position between the two of you: your arms wrapped around one another, staring into each other's eyes? I don't think I want to know).

Rachel squeals and runs over to the both of you, to congratulate you on "Finally getting your heads out of your asses!" and getting together before slapping you on the arm for hurting her brother and smacking Jake for thinking whatever "perverted thing you were thinking." Everyone is smiling and commenting on how it "took you two long enough" and how they "knew you two were going to get together."

While everyone is congregating around the both of you, I can't help but keep my distance. Standing apart from the group, I fume. He wasn't supposed to do this! To say these things. To suggest that he feels for you what _I_ have felt _every single night_ since I first went out with you.

He never dreamt of you in his arms, smiling up at him, telling him that you love him and that you never want to let go. He never thought of coming home from work to find you on the couch, waiting for him. He never woke up hot and bothered after a dream where you were the star: the woman panting in his ear, raking her nails down his back, drawing him closer and closer. He never wakes up holding someone, believing that it's you; that you are his wife and that he is _happy._ He doesn't have these dreams. I did.

I _do_.

It never went away, you know. The feelings: me wanting you. Even after imprinting, I still dream of you every night. It's still your name on my lips when I wake up in the morning.

You.

_I_ want you. Not him.

Ever since we were little, when we were in grade school and I wanted to be your bus buddy, I wanted you. Back then all I wanted was to hold your hand. In middle school I wanted to walk you home. I dreamed of taking you to prom, of being your boyfriend, of being with you forever. I wanted to be the person to make you smile, laugh, moan.

Every night I imagined myself being your husband, a father for our children, to be a father better than my own; something I dreamed possible because of you. You made me better.

I dreamed of doing it all.

Every night I wished that it was you, that you were the one I imprinted on, the woman that would make my eyes cloud over, that would be mine forever.

But you aren't. I didn't fight. And I'll have to live with that, I'll have to live with the fact that you'll be in someone else's arms every night.


End file.
